


Late Night Revelations

by amusewithaview



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Gen, Pack Dynamics, Psychic Bond, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-07
Updated: 2011-11-07
Packaged: 2017-10-25 19:14:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amusewithaview/pseuds/amusewithaview
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison's kneeling beside him almost before she realizes, reaching out tentatively and then enfolding him in her arms.  He slumps over, offering no resistance, half in her lap and <i>sobbing</i>.  She's on the ground with her arms wrapped around a crying werewolf as best she can - his face pressed into her stomach and his arms so tightly wound around her hips that she knows she'll have bruises tomorrow.</p><p>It's the best she's felt in <i>weeks</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night Revelations

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, this came to me as an image of Jackson going to Chris because he can't handle the werewolf stuff. I've seen a few stories/prompts where Jackson can't handle being a werewolf because he's not _prepared_ or because he just didn't realize what he was getting into, and I wanted to present an alternate reason for a post-transformation freakout.
> 
> In this AU, the wolves in a healthy pack have a sort of empathy bond that runs through the alpha. It's to let them know who's hurting and sort of keep them together. In _normal_ cases, it would be very light and discrete and barely ping on the individual's radars. However, in the aftermath of Peter... well, Derek is new to the alpha thing, Scott is dealing with a lot of shit (including, in this AU-verse, a strained mate-bond with Allison), and none of them are really prepared to share headspace with others who are equally effed up. Since shit rolls downhill and Jackson is the newest wolf, they're dumping their emotional baggage on _him_ and _that's_ why Jackson can't deal with the wolfiness.

It's been a few weeks since...everything. Allison has been grounded pretty severely: she's gone to school a few times – mostly to pick up work, the teachers have been pretty understanding about this extended leave considering her circumstances: the recent move, the craziness that's been going on (what little the supernaturally-unaware portions of the town are aware of), and her aunt's sudden and violent death – but that's about it. She stays close to the house, barely goes outside, half because she's under a strict punishment detail and half because she doesn't want to go anywhere.  If she goes out, odds are good (because her luck is bad) that she'll see one of _them_  and she's not sure she can handle that yet.

 

She has nightmares and insomnia and she thinks she might be depressed, but who can she talk to?

 

Her parents are dealing with their own shit: on the outs because her father has had to bury his sister and he's hurting, but at the same time he's angry with Kate for what he now knows she did. Her mom... her mom sees nothing wrong with Kate's actions – any of them – and the strain in the house is so great that Allison wonders if their marriage will survive it.

 

She's not sure how she feels about that.

 

Or Scott.

 

Or werewolves.

 

Or her family's unofficial business.

 

Or what's happened. All of it. Any of it.

 

She wants to talk to Scott. She wants to rail against him for... well, she's not sure exactly. Bringing her into this world? It's not actually his fault, from what she's pieced together he's just as much of a victim as she is. Almost was? Whatever. Is she angry with him for making her care? Maybe. Probably. Part of her thinks that everything would be easier if she never knew about werewolves. If she never put a face to the myth and found out that people like Scott – sweet, sexy, caring _Scott_  – could be hiding fur and fangs and _wolves_ beneath their skins.

 

Allison's thoughts are scattered and incoherent, and she knows that she's not thinking about this rationally. She knows that she's not _really_ mad at Scott. She _misses_  Scott. She misses him more than she should, like there's a piece of her that's being stretched too thin trying to keep them connected. Allison wants to go and find him and touch him to reassure herself that he's okay, that he didn't die, that just because she can't see him all the time it doesn't mean that he'll disappear.

 

It scares her a little – okay, a _lot_  – the intensity of this feeling.

 

She's grounded, though, and that takes away some of the element of choice. Makes it okay for her to resist seeing him, even though she also chafes at the restrictions. She feels torn and she's hurting and she's stuck in a loop of nightmare-filled nights and pointless days, barely broken by the occasional homework and stilted conversation with her parents. They tiptoe around each other, now. Sometimes she hears them yelling, muffled by doors and floors and distance through their over-large house.

 

Allison stays in her room most of the time. Especially when she knows that they're awake.

 

She's staring at the ceiling and it's nearing one in the morning. She's hungry, but she's not sure if she wants to risk running into her father or her mother (mostly her mother) if she ventures down into the kitchen. She sits on her bed for twenty minutes, watching her alarm clock's red lights until everything else in the room goes dark and the edges of her vision start to crawl, then she shakes herself and heads for the door. This is ridiculous, and she's hungry, and she's being _ridiculous_.

 

The house is dark, not that she expected anything different. A glance out the window shows her an open garage and a missing Volvo – her mother must be off again, 'visiting'. This is the third 'visit' this week and Allison's suspicions about divorce are starting to become more like plans for her future. She already knows who she'll live with if given a choice, but she doesn't want to think about it. At least, not on an empty stomach.

 

She reaches the kitchen without incident, the light is on but she doesn't hear anyone, so she rummages through the fridge for sandwich fixings. Allison has a moment to be thankful that her father is usually the one who does the grocery shopping, her mother's been gone too much to pay attention to that particular chore.

 

Late-night snack in hand, she turns around to head back to her room when she hears muffled voices coming from the porch. It's not her parents, well – it's not her mom, obviously – and it's two _male_ voices, she can tell that much. One is low and calm, the other is...definitely not calm.

 

Allison heads for the porch.

 

What she sees there is not what she expected, not something she would have entertained as a possibility in a million years – and considering her recent experiences with werewolves, that's saying something. She sees her father, that's a given, standing tall and stern and solemn with a shotgun in one hand, pointed firmly towards the ground, while he talks to – Jackson?

 

Jackson looks like shit. His hair is too long and tangled, half matted down with mud. His clothes are ripped at the seams and torn in a few interesting places, some small bloodstains on his pants. His _face_... if she never sees that look on another person's face, it'll be too soon. Jackson's eyes are wide and wild and he looks so _lost_ , like everything he ever wanted was held in front of him and then snatched away. There are tears in his eyes and leaking down his cheeks, but he doesn't appear aware of them.

 

“ - _please_ ,” he's asking, _begging_ , her father. “ _Please._ ”

 

“ _No_ , Jackson. I can't and I won't.”

 

“You _can_ ,” he insists, taking a small step forward, “you're the only one who can!”

 

“I'm not, and if you keep looking for death, you'll find it. But it _won't_  be at my hands, son.”

 

 _'Looking for death?'  What the hell is going on?_ “What's going on?” she asks, opening the door and stepping onto the porch. Instantly, two sets of laser-sharp blue eyes are trained on her. She would be nervous if she wasn't used to her father, and too physically drained to be nervous. She is wary, though.

 

“Allison,” Jackson breathes her name like it's a prayer, a talisman, licking his lips, “Allison, _please_.”

 

“Please...?” she stares at him, confused.

 

“Please, convince your dad that he needs to kill me.”

 

“What?!”

 

Her father sighs, shifting his weight slightly but keeping the gun trained on the ground. “He's a wolf now,” he explains shortly, “and he's having trouble handling it. He's been coming around here for the past week or so, trying to convince me to kill him 'for the good of the town'.” He sighs again, and Allison sees the new lines that have carved themselves into his face for the first time, “I'm not – I don't kill kids, I won't kill him. He hasn't done anything to deserve it.”

 

There's a lot Allison could say here, about her dad and their family and what they do and what codes they live by. But her dad looks tired and pained, and she loves him even if she's not sure how she feels about what he does.

 

“ _Yet!_ ” Jackson throws his hands in the air, exasperated, “I haven't done anything _yet_ , but I will, I _know_ I will! You have no idea what it's like. I feel – I feel _everything_ and I can't – I _can't_.” He falls to his knees, wrapping his arms around himself, “I can't handle it. I can feel Derek's anger and he's so, _so_ angry that it hurts. It _hurts_. And _Scott_ -”

 

“Scott's hurt?” she moves towards him automatically, not even noticing her father's aborted attempt to reach out, she's standing on the steps now, staring down at Jackson's pained face. “Why is Scott hurt? _How_ is Scott hurt? What's going on?”

 

He stares back at her, incredulous, “How can you _not know?_ He's – he's going _crazy_ , Allison! He doesn't show it, just like Derek doesn't show how angry he is, or how he still dreams of fire, but he's torn up and going _nuts_ because he can't see you and I can _feel it_ , I can _feel him_ and it's making _me_ crazy, too!” He falls forward a little onto his fists, looking like he's fighting to hold himself up and Allison's never seen anyone look so defeated, so _broken_. “Please,” he says, almost whispering, “I can't – I can't take feeling this anymore, it – it _hurts_.”

 

Allison's kneeling beside him almost before she realizes, reaching out tentatively and then enfolding him in her arms. He slumps over, offering no resistance, half in her lap and _sobbing_. She's on the ground with her arms wrapped around a crying werewolf as best she can: his face pressed into her stomach and his arms so tightly wound around her hips that she knows she'll have bruises tomorrow.

 

It's the best she's felt in _weeks_.

 

Touching him makes everything feel sharper, somehow. It's not just that she's doing something _useful_  for the first time in god-knows-how-long, although that's a part of it, it's like she's reconnecting to something she didn't even know she'd lost. That thing in her chest that's been stretched still hurts, but it's easing with every moment she spends touching him, and it's almost like – almost like there's an _echo_ , like she's not touching _just_ Jackson, right now. Allison doesn't know what it is, but it feels good and it feels right and that's enough for now.

 

She's making soft, soothing noises: humming and whispering and shushing Jackson with nonsense sounds. Running her fingers through his hair over and over again and ignoring the cold, hard ground beneath and the hot, wet spread of tears through her nightclothes.

 

There's no telling how long they're like that, but eventually he calms a bit, and that's when she notices Derek, standing at the edge of the property. Allison looks back at her father to see if he's noticed but he's looking at _her_ and she can't read his expression at all.

 

Jackson goes stiff and she can tell he's trying to pull himself back together. He draws away from her slowly until he's kneeling again, free from her embrace. His hands are fisted on his knees and his head is bowed, shoulders trembling a little. Derek comes up behind him, gently laying one hand on the teen's shoulder. Jackson flinches, then relaxes into the touch, sighing deeply.

 

Allison stays very, very still because she's about 99% sure that Derek doesn't like her. Alright, she's about 99% sure that Derek _hates_ her because _god_ , what her family has done to his? She can't imagine how he could feel anything _else_. So she sits where she is and she stares very fixedly at his hand on Jackson's shoulder and a small part of her is sort of grateful that her dad is standing there with a gun and an even smaller part of her is feeling bereft at the loss of contact and nudging for her to scoot forward and hug _both_ of the wolves, because they just look so _hurt_.

 

She squashes that smaller voice because it's _obviously_ not on speaking terms with her self-preservation instinct.

 

“I'm sorry,” Derek says softly. Allison's not sure who he's saying it to until he looks up at the porch, at her dad. “I'm sorry about this. I can't promise that it won't happen again, but I'm doing everything I can to stop it – to _fix this_.” His face is even more closed off now than it usually is, mouth turned down at the corners and she can see that her father's not the only one who's looking older.

 

“What -” Allison pauses and licks her lips nervously as Derek's eyes shoot to hers, “what's wrong with him?” She instantly regrets her words when Jackson shudders, reaching out and grabbing one of his hands to smooth out the tension she'd just accidentally caused.

 

“We're pack,” Derek explains shortly, eyes intent and intense on her face, “we're... connected.”

 

“He said he was feeling -”

 

“A good pack keeps its bonds open, we've just -” he shuts his eyes, jaw clenching, “we've lost _so much_.”

 

Allison squeezes Jackson's hand, trying to radiate comfort and – and she doesn't even know, _something_. He needs something and that distant echo she can feel needs it too and there's a part of her that needs to – no, that _revels in_ giving it to them.

 

“Is there anything I can do?” she asks, looking at Jackson's down-turned face but really addressing both of them.

 

“There is...” Derek says slowly, studying her face, “but that's not up to me, or you.”

 

“Then whose choice is it?” she asks, then jumps at the feel of a hand on her shoulder and looks up at her dad. He's looking... angry? Resigned? Determined? Maybe all of these things and none of them, she can't really tell.

 

“It's mine, at least until you're eighteen.” He switches focus to Derek, “I think you'd better come inside, it seems we have things to discuss... and an _overlap_ in responsibilities,” he adds, staring down at where Allison still hasn't released Jackson's hand.

 

Allison's not sure what's going on, but it seems like her reprieve from the world is at an end.

**Author's Note:**

> To clarify: in this AU the _only_ reason that Allison is getting pack-feedback is because she's a _part_ of the pack through her bond with Scott. Stiles is awesome and all, but he's not pack yet because he doesn't have that bond. Lydia isn't wolfed in this, either. (Both of them would totally make awesome wolves if I continue this, though.) Papa Argent has figured out the mate-bond between his daughter and Scott and is probably OOC because I'm making him, well, not _happy_ about it, but maybe tolerating it because he feels he owes Hale and his pack. But only if his daughter is okay with it.
> 
> So, yeah, kinda think this might end up being part of a larger AU because I _really_ don't like the way it ended, here. I wanna go back and explore Allison's POV on a lot of the show and flesh out the implied mate-bond I gave her with Scott, but it stands as a good one-shot involving four characters who rarely seem to interact in a group.
> 
> :-)


End file.
